In the Mind of Madness

“Here is your tea, miss.”

Kenna lifted her head off her hand and smiled at the old man approaching her with a steaming cup on a plate. “Thank you so much, Alfred. I could have done it myself.”

“I was up anyway, miss.” he nodded his head and smiled in return. “But I will now retire if you don’t need anything else. An old man can only remain awake for so long.”

“That’s absolutely fine with me. It was very nice to meet you, though.”

He gave her a genial look and bowed slightly. “Good night, then, Ms. Archer. I doubt Master Wayne will leave you alone very long.”

“Thanks. Good night, Alfred.”

Kenna watched him leave the room she was in, then allowed her jaw to drop just a little. She’d heard about how spectacular Wayne Manor was before the fire, and that they were rebuilding it exactly like the original, but it was still shocking. She was in a living room adjacent to Bruce’s bedroom, sitting on a couch that had to be velvet in front of a monstrous electric fireplace. It wasn’t putting off much heat, the room didn’t need it, but it was flickering pleasantly and giving the room a warm glow.

Every room Kenna had seen in the manor (the front hall, the bathroom, a spare bedroom, and the living room she sat in now) was furnished with a different type of rich wallpaper and matching lush furniture. There were vases and sculptures and paintings everywhere, things that Kenna knew were worth huge sums of money. It was impressive as well as intimidating. She sipped her tea, savoring the clean bitter taste and staring at the faux fire.

It all felt like a dream. A very good dream, but still not reality. She was away from The Joker. There was nothing threatening her life or the life of her family. No more taunting from the mad genius that had been her jailer for…God, she couldn’t even remember how long. Two months? No, it was longer than that. Wasn’t it? Kenna settled deeper into the soft couch, folding her legs up under herself. It was really over. She was safe.

Despite the peace that thought brought her, a loud hiss coming from the next room made Kenna jump hard enough to slop tea all over her dress. It was the first time she realized she was still wearing it, making her smirk down at her cleavage and the tight red material. The Joker couldn’t force her into any more ridiculous outfits now.

The sharp noise repeating itself made her remember it, standing up with a bit of difficulty due to the squeezing dress, setting what was left of her tea carefully on a nearby end table. She stood and listened to hear where it was coming from, pursing her lips when it happened again. It was originating in Bruce’s room, the door not completely shut.

“Bruce?” she tried to say the word like she was calling out to him, but it was only a whisper. She shook her head at herself. When it had been The Joker she would shout and rage all day long, but when it was her savior and apparently superhero Bruce Wayne she was shy.

Deciding that she was being ridiculous, Kenna closed the distance between herself and the door. She knocked before pushing on the dark wood, poking her head in tentatively.

“Bruce, are you alright?” her voice was a bit stronger, but she couldn’t see him.

There was a gigantic four-poster bed in the middle of the room. Behind it was what appeared to be a huge window, mostly covered by thick curtains. On the neatly made gold comforter was the Batman mask and armor. Kenna found herself staring at it, astounded that it was really Bruce. But when she thought about it, it did make sense. Before she could dwell more on the costume on the bed something dark on the wood floor caught her eye. A small red dribble starting on the floor and moving away…

There was a pained grunt from somewhere to the right, and when Kenna turned her head she gasped. The red sprinkling on the floor was blood, leading from the spot near the bed to Bruce bracing himself against the open door to his bathroom. The blood was dripping from his back to the floor due to the many different open wounds on his back.

“God!” Kenna gasped again, stepping all the way into the room.

He couldn’t seem to turn around, his knuckles white and his head hanging down. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” with that she shut the door and approached Bruce, being careful to step over his blood. “That’s got to be from the glass. Why didn’t’ you say something before?”

Bruce swallowed, a ripple of pain moving through the muscles of his back. It caused more blood to ooze out of some of the larger tears in his flesh. “Because I was fine. I am fine.”

“Bruce, I’m a doctor. A psychiatrist, but still a doctor. I know a serious wound when I see one.” Kenna moved to his side to look at his face, finding him pale and clenching his jaw. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“It’s in the cabinet.” Bruce nodded at the rather large area of white cupboards in the huge bathroom. Everything was huge there. “I was going to get it.”

“But you’re in too much pain to move from here.” snapped Kenna, flattening herself to squeeze between his arm and the doorframe. “I need to stem the bleeding, then we’re going to the hospital.”

Bruce shook his head, sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead. “No hospitals. I wanted to have Alfred do it in the morning.”

“Like this it’s a possibility you wouldn’t have lived until morning.” Kenna gave him a stern look, opening the first door she saw and trying not to look shocked. Bruce had the same supplies as most hospitals did in his bathroom. “Is there any kind of pain medicine in here?”

Bruce had to swallow again, his bare chest rising and falling slowly with his pained breath. “Morphine and vicodin. It’s in the back behind the tourniquets.”

“I’m going to pretend you have a prescription for these.” mumbled Kenna as she found the bottles of pills and multiple syringes. She wasn’t looking, but she could have sworn Bruce gave a soft chuckle.

She gathered gauze, gloves, medical tape, a needle and thread, the morphine, a pair of tweezers, a bottle of iodine, and several towels. Bruce’s eyes followed her as far as they could, struggling to see her put everything on the bed, clearing a space before returning with one of the syringes. Kenna removed the plastic cap from the needle, making sure it would function before jamming it into Bruce’s bicep. He made a noise in his throat that slowly died down, giving her an incredulous look as she pushed the liquid into his arm.

“I figured you had a high pain tolerance, and the warning just makes it worse.” she shrugged, withdrawing the syringe and setting on the dresser behind her. “That should kick in soon. Then, you’re moving to the bed and I’m going to fix your back.”

Bruce nodded, visibly relaxing at the prospect of the pain going away. Kenna leaned her shoulder against the wall next to him, her eyes moving from his face down past his plain green boxers to his blood-streaked legs. His body was lean and muscular, and littered with scars and bruises. It was frightening. Kenna wondered for a moment if The Joker’s body looked similar, but quickly banished that thought. That was stupid. She didn’t think those things.

“When I think about it, it’s kind of surprising nobody’s fingered you yet.” Kenna said after a few long moments of silence. Bruce looked at her questioningly, so she went on. “You’re extremely wealthy and have access to some of the most advanced equipment in the world through Wayne Enterprises. You disappeared and people thought you were dead for years, then as soon as you show up again there’s a guy dressed as a bat patrolling the streets of Gotham at night. Go figure.”

This time Kenna was sure Bruce chuckled. “Everything is obvious once you know it. People were too scared of everything else going on in Gotham to actually want to know Batman’s true identity. It is different now, though...”

“Good point.” Kenna nodded, glancing anxiously at his back. “Think you can move yet?”

Bruce let go of the doorway with some effort, his face screwing up as he walked with stiff strides to his bed. “Some of these are pretty deep. There might even still be glass left in them.”

“How would it get through all that armor?” Kenna moved at his pace, by his side but unsure if she should reach out and help him or not.

“It’s not as strong as it looks.” said Bruce through his teeth. “I gave up protection for speed and mobility.”

Kenna grimaced as Bruce reached his bed. “That might not have been so smart.”

“Plus, you did land on me. Kind of forced it through.” he looked at her sideways, a hint of a smile forming on his tight mouth.

She smiled back a little. She could barely remember what it felt like to smile. Not smirk or sneer, but to grin because something was genuinely nice or funny. Bruce started to sit and she caught his arm.

“Could you lay on your stomach? It would make it easier.”

Bruce steeled himself and turned so he was facing his bed. Kenna watched sympathetically as he crawled onto it, suddenly dropping on his stomach with a groan. He was obviously in a lot of pain, so Kenna hoped that the morphine would do a better job in the next few minutes.

“Be right back.”

She grabbed one of the towels and ran on her toes into the bathroom, wetting it in the deep sink with warm water. As soon as she was back at the bed she started wiping the blood off his legs, causing Bruce to twitch rather violently, then hiss in agony.

“Sorry. Probably a warning would have been okay that time.” she flinched sheepishly, rubbing more gently. “You’re just covered in blood. Don’t worry, I won’t use the towel on your back.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” said Bruce’s voice, somewhat muffled by the bed. “Also, I’m sorry you have to do this. Alfred would have done it in the morning.”

Kenna shook her head swiftly. “Bruce, I’d rather do this than let you bleed to death. Besides, I do owe you my life.”

Bruce didn’t reply, laying compliantly while Kenna cleaned the blood off his legs. She looked at his back and sighed, folding over the bloody towel and setting it aside with the armor and other medical supplies. “I wanted to put it off until the morphine really starts working, but like I said, I don’t want you to bleed to death.”

“It’s kicking in. Slowly. Go ahead.” Bruce shifted slightly, bringing up his arms to rest his cheek on them.

Kenna nodded and picked up the gloves, wriggling her hands into them and letting the latex snap on her wrists. When it stung she looked down, noticing for the first time the light brown bruise in the shape of a hand on her arm. From The Joker. She shook off the tremble it sent through her, picking up the tweezers and squirting a bit of the yellow iodine onto her finger to sterilize them as best she could.

“Are you sure there’s glass in them?” she asked, voice a bit unsteady. The idea of the pain she was about to inflict on him making her stomach clench.

Bruce nodded grimly. “In at least a few of them. Most came out when I took off the suit, but some of the smaller pieces got really imbedded.”

She blinked a few times, hoping it would steady her. Kenna felt like passing out and she wasn’t even the one about to have tweezers in her fresh wounds. “Okay…If it’s too much just say something.”

“Go ahead.” Bruce was clenching his eyes shut, preparing.

Kenna took a deep breath. Waiting wouldn’t make it easier, especially not on Bruce, and this was about helping him. She reminded herself she’d seen The Joker murder people. She could handle this little bit of blood.

Bruce exhaled slowly and grabbed onto the blanket when Kenna pulled open the first gash. It was a clean slice, not very deep. That was good. The next one was horrifying. Apparently the glass had dug in and worked its way to the left, almost removing a large chunk of meat from Bruce’s back. Kenna took a few seconds to locate the right way to remove the glass before quickly inserting the tweezers and gripping it, pulling it out and laying it in her free palm.

“Shit!” breathed Bruce, holding even tighter to his comforter.

“Sorry.” Kenna replied, looking at the quarter-sized piece of glass briefly before pulling out a piece of gauze to lay it and any others on. “Can I go on?”

“Yes. Please.”

There were over thirty gauges in Bruce’s back, out of which twenty-one contained pieces of glass. By the time Kenna was sewing up the last injury that needed stitches Bruce was half asleep. Or half unconscious from the pain, Kenna couldn’t tell. Hopefully it was the morphine making him drowsy.

She used a few pieces of gauze to wipe over all the cuts with iodine, then covered the ones that needed more attention with more gauze and medical tape. Bruce’s back still looked like a mess, but at least he wasn’t bleeding anymore.

“Are you awake?” Kenna leaned her face down to talk to Bruce.

His eyes were half open, but he blinked and cleared his throat, then sat up. He barely flinched at the tenderness, rubbing his face and smiling a bit self-consciously at Kenna.

“Thank you…Doctor.”

Kenna blushed a little, noticing that Bruce was indeed only in boxers, and it wasn’t an unattractive sight at all. “No problem. We’re a little closer to even now.”

“What happened to your dress?” asked Bruce abruptly.

Looking down, Kenna remembered her tea, laughing. “I had a spill. It’s alright.”

“It’s a nice dress.”

There was an awkward silence. Kenna realized she was still wearing bloody gloves and rolled them off, putting them in the pile with the rest of the bloody things and carrying them into the bathroom to throw into the wastebasket. When her eyes briefly landed on the mirror as she tried to leave again she did a double take.

Her makeup was smudged around her eyes and lips. The red lipstick all over her lips and almost to her cheek on one side, mascara rubbed on her eyelids and under her eyes. She started to laugh, but the smile twisting her features made her abruptly nauseous. With all that makeup everywhere she looked just like him. Maybe it was a stretch, but Kenna could see it clearly.

Her hands scrambled for the bar of soap on the sink, turning on the faucet and lathering quickly. She scrubbed roughly at her face over and over until she was convinced it was clean, breathing heavily and turning off the sink. She let her face drip for a moment before straightening up and staring at the mirror. It was her again, just her. Wide green eyes and bright pink cheeks from the thorough cleansing.

As soon as she emerged from the bathroom she saw Bruce had laid back down on his stomach and fell asleep. She bit her lip to keep from grinning at the blissful look on his face. The morphine must have really done what it was supposed to. However, when Bruce woke up he was going to be in pain again.

Kenna went back into the bathroom and filled the glass on the sink with cold water, setting it and one of the bottles of vicodin on Bruce’s bedside table. Then she flipped off the light and left the room, curling up on the couch she’d been on before and shutting her eyes.

It took her only a few moments to fall asleep, after convincing herself that for the time she was safe and didn’t have to think about the trials she would have to face the next day.